


reliable liar

by krystian



Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types, The Lorien Legacies - Pittacus Lore
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Sleep Deprivation, c'mon both of them are traumatised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: Einar looked tired.Nigel scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Would ya look at that,” he snarled at the boy behind the metal bars as a sick feeling of satisfacion ran through his veins, poisoning him from the inside.“What do you want?” Einar asked although he didn’t sound curious in the slightest.Nigel clicked his tongue again. “Just thought I’d check up on ya. See how my favourite psychopath is doing, y’know?”
Relationships: Nigel Barnaby | Nigel Rally & Einar
Comments: 5
Kudos: 7





	reliable liar

**Author's Note:**

> hey! i keep choosing dead fandoms! go me! 
> 
> in any case, nigel and einar are my comfort characters and i just- felt the need to add something. both of them certainly had their issues and weren't necessarily good people (especially einar), but i just. i like them as characters. 
> 
> in any case, the title (and part of the story) were inspired by north bloom's [The Fox](https://youtu.be/pdWZPPtScoo) as well as Elliot Lee's [TV Head](https://youtu.be/p5EbceA76No)

_[3]_

Einar looked tired.

Legitimately tired, if Nigel’s eyes were to be trusted. Not just the typical run-of-the-mill tired that appertained to most adolescents. There were dark purple circles beneath his eyes, a stark contrast to his otherwise pale skin. He flinched from time to time, but Nigel guessed that that was mostly because of the Inhibitor and not because he was actually scared of Nigel.

He scoffed, clicking his tongue. “Would ya look at that,” he snarled at the boy behind the metal bars.

Despite the low electric voltage continuously running through his body _(and probably frying his brain, given the zombified look in his eyes)_ Einar looked up at him. The muscles in his face barely did as much as twitch. “What do you want?” he asked although he didn’t sound curious in the slightest.

Nigel clicked his tongue again. “Just thought I’d check up on ya. See how my favourite psychopath is doing, y’know?”

Einar shrugged and narrowed his eyes slightly, but he didn’t say anything. It drove Nigel up the wall, the way he was so calm and collected despite having every last bit of freedom stripped away, despite the fact that half of his supporters were dead and the rest had left him here to rot. But there was simply _nothing_ behind his eyes. Nothing that Nigel could name, in any case.

“Geez, you’re more of a wanker than before, aren’t ya?” Nigel rolled his eyes, pushing away from the cold prison wall. “Well, have fun drowning in your own misery.”

Einar didn’t say anything when he turned around and left.

* * *

_[8]_

Nigel really didn’t know why he kept coming back.

Maybe because Einar was the guy who had – although not really verbally – told him to off himself. Maybe that had left a lasting impression on him. Maybe he felt good, seeing his tormentor like that. Maybe that was it.

He was sitting in a plastic lawn chair in front of Einar’s cell, staring at the boy across him, sitting on the metal cot. A blanket was draped over his shoulders, already slipping off, and his hair was tousled as if he’d just woken up. He hadn’t, Nigel knew that much.

Sighing, Nigel leaned back in his chair. His right hand tapped rhythmically against the armrest.

“Doesn’t it get boring?” Einar asked after a while, not really looking at him. “You might want to- to think about other ways you could- you could spend your time instead.”

Nigel snorted. “Oh, I know of a million different ways I could spend my time, but none of them seem as amusing as watching the sleep deprivation eat away at you.” He knew that they disabled the Inhibitor for a few hours every night, just so Einar could catch some sleep, but however much time they gave him - well, it seemingly wasn’t enough. The circles beneath his eyes had deepened and Nigel could see the light tremor in his hands, no matter how hard Einar tried to hide it from him.

Einar cracked a smile, but there was no warmth behind his eyes. It looked more like a grimace. The skin of his dry bottom lip split open. “What a- boring way to spend your days.”

Nigel was inclined to agree; it wasn’t like Einar ever did anything interesting. He simply sat there, staring at Nigel with his uncaring eyes. He hated the boy’s guts. “So, what was it like? Knowing that people only liked you because you made them like you?” It was a low blow, really, and if he’d been talking to anyone else, he would have felt bad, but this was Einar.

He smiled a thin-lipped smile. “Well, what’s it like- getting used by your own parents?” There was a certain feeling of smugness around him, as if he thought he’d just delivered a devastating blow to Nigel’s self-esteem. He really hadn’t.

“Shouldn’t you know that feeling best?” Nigel shot back sardonically, acid dripping from his every word. Einar couldn’t hurt him, not anymore. Not locked up like that, with an Inhibitor reducing him to a jittery mess.

Einar closed his eyes and breathed in deeply through his nose. Maybe Nigel actually had hit a sore point this time. He really hoped so. But Einar opened his eyes just a second later, his piercing gaze fixated on Nigel. “Is that all, then?” he asked quietly, the corners of his mouth twitching. He didn’t wait for an answer before he turned away to face the wall, completely ignoring Nigel’s presence.

No matter what Nigel said, Einar didn’t respond again that day.

* * *

_[12]_

With every passing day, Einar’s cheekbones became more and more prominent, the once soft curve of his jawline harsh and sharp. Despite the hatred he felt, he could still admit that Einar – despite being skinny as hell – at least used to be somewhat good-looking. The same kind of good-looking that the Pepperpont boys had been. He shivered at just the thought.

Nigel heaved a sigh, dropping down on the plastic lawn chair that was waiting for him in front of Einar’s cell.

Einar, who was currently sprawled out on his thin mattress, his eyes fixated on a spot on the ceiling. He mumbled something beneath his breath, lost in the empty room. Sometimes, Nigel wondered how he hadn’t gone mad yet. Maybe it was just a matter of time.

“What was that?” he asked, knowing fully well that Einar hadn’t been talking to him. “Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Einar clicked his tongue, a sound he hadn’t heard from the boy before. Einar didn’t get annoyed. “How many wrong- wrong keys makes it right?”

Furrowing his brows, Nigel intently stared at Einar. “What?” He didn’t need to feign confusion; Einar genuinely didn’t make any sense.

“I mean, how many- wrong keys make a right one?” Maybe he was already going mad.

“What keys?”

Einar shakily raised a hand, vaguely gesturing around. “The keys. It’s about the keys. It always is.”

Nigel crossed his arms. “Are you that sleep deprived already?” he scoffed, watching as Einar slowly sat up, one slender hand pressed against the cold wall. His lips were a pale blue, and he could see every vein through Einar’s paper-thin skin. When Einar didn’t answer immediately, he added, “Really don’t know what you’re talking about there, mate.”

Einar clicked his tongue again. “You wouldn’t,” he replied snootily. “You’re not like me. I just-” he interrupted himself, averting his eyes. “It’s like keys,” he added after a minute of uneasy silence.

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get that. What keys? The keys to your cell door?” He snorted quietly; it was highly unlikely that Einar would ever get the chance to look at them, let alone hold them in his hands.

“No, not those,” Einar shook his head and sat up, crossing his legs. “It’s like keys,” he repeated, and now that Nigel could see his face, he noticed how utterly tired Einar truly seemed to be. His eyelids were drooping, barely open anymore. But Einar was still fumbling around with his hands, and Nigel frowned when he placed one of his hands on his chest, right above where his heart would be. If he even had one. “Like a key,” he muttered, as if Nigel would understand. “My legacy,” he added after a while. “Can’t use it anymore. No idea what you’re thinking. Or feeling. Or what you think you’re- you’re gaining from being here.”

With a shudder Nigel remembered the time Einar had manipulated his emotions, forced him to do things he didn’t want to do. He really didn’t need a repeat of that. He smiled frostily. “Can’t I come here because I enjoy seeing you like this?”

Einar smiled back, the same, tense twitch of his lips as before. It looked crooked, almost a little unnatural. His eyes narrowed to slits. “What a waste of time.”

Perhaps it truly was. He shrugged, just so he wouldn’t have to agree with Einar. “I just enjoy watching you wither away, day by day. Don’t think anyone’s ever going to forgive you for what you’ve done.”

He pushed his chair back to get up, finally averting his eyes. It was only by accident that he didn’t miss Einar’s small, “I wouldn’t expect them to.” 

* * *

_[14]_

It was the first time that he actually saw Einar eat something.

The boy was sitting on the narrow metal bedframe, his legs crossed and a plastic bowl with salad clutched tightly between the trembling fingers of his left hand. In his right he held a small, plastic fork. They didn’t seem to trust him with metal cutlery, apparently.

Listlessly he picked at his food, scrutinizing every lettuce leaf extra carefully before finally pushing the bowl away. “I killed someone w-with a steak knife,” he said, without preamble. Waiting. As if he wanted to see Nigel’s reaction.

Nigel just raised an eyebrow and shifted in his seat.

“Made him stab himself. In the neck. He bled out in a pool of- of his own blood.” Einar grimaced, as if the memory had spoiled his appetite. “He deserved it.” Einar’s sharp eyes followed him, still waiting for a reaction.

Well, he could wait for a long time if that was the case.

Nigel merely shrugged, the palms of his hands resting on his exposed arms. It was cold in here; not so cold that he could see his breath, but cold enough to make him tremble slightly. “You killed a lot of people,” he said after a while. “You tried to kill me.”

“That’s true.” Einar cocked his head to one side, seemingly not bothered by the cold. Something in the back of his mind told him that maybe Einar was used to the cold, what with growing up in Iceland and all. He looked a little livelier than before, although he still was as pale as the sheets covering his makeshift-bed. “Because you’re her son. As an individual, y-you don’t interest me in the slightest.”

Sighing, Nigel stared at the wall. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?” he snapped back. “Because if it is, I think you’d do better by using your legacy. Oh wait. I forgot you can’t do that anymore.”

He could hear Einar grinding his teeth, and with a smug smile, he watched as the boy’s left eye twitched a little. “Perhaps you’re right. I’m not here to- to make more enemies. No point in doing that.”

Nigel stood up so fast that the chair noisily clattered to the floor. Einar didn’t even flinch. He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

_[19]_

“I was sure you w-wouldn’t come back,” Einar remarked casually, resting his cheek on the palm of his left hand. “But here you are.”

Nigel scrunched up his nose, kicking the chair before he took a seat. “Well, you thought wrong, freak.” If Einar thought he’d seen the last of him, well, he was mistaken. Nigel wouldn’t give up that easily. He wasn’t totally sure what he was looking for, but he knew he hadn’t found it yet.

Einar simply shrugged. “I may be a freak but I’m not- not a monster.”

Nigel rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

“Isabela told me not to go soft. Back then. In Mexico.” He waited for a few seconds, probably watching Nigel to see his reaction when he mentioned Isabela. “But that’s over now. I’m tired. I said everything I had to say. I’m tired.” He dragged a spindly hand across his face.

Fuming and seething with rage, Nigel bit down on his lip until he could taste the blood. Only when he was sure that he wouldn’t start screaming _(making a fuss here was decidedly not a good idea)_ did he dare to respond. “You don’t get to choose. You’re not like us and you’re not a good person, so stop pretending that you are. You ain’t fooling anyone.”

Einar snorted quietly. “No, I suppose I’m not. Not after all the shit that- that I’ve done.” He sucked in a harsh breath. “Thought I was so smart. So gifted. I wasn’t. I’m still not.”

Nigel didn’t quite know what to say; it all sounded like a giant ruse to him, but there also was a nagging voice in the back of his head, one that sounded an awful lot like Ran. Maybe Einar had found a way to use his legacy. Maybe it was just his breaking voice. Nigel didn’t know. “You’re sick.”

And, for the first time since Nigel had been paying him these visits, Einar issued a command. A command, that lacked every and any authority. “I know. Get out.”

He didn’t feel the need to oblige in the slightest. Nigel curled his lips into a sneer. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

But instead of getting angry or eliciting any emotion that Nigel would have liked to see in Einar, the other simply turned towards the wall and pressed his body into the blanket, as if he could disappear that way. Then, almost as if he was talking to himself, his quiet voice rang out in the room, “I hurt people. Kidnapped. Killed. I- I don’t deserve redemption. Or gratitude. Anything. But I said- told them everything I know. That’s all I can do.”

Nigel leaned back in his chair. “Stop pitying yourself.”

He was almost glad when Einar finally looked at him, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not- not pitying myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” He snorted in disbelief. “’But I had no other choice! What was I supposed to do?’” he imitated Einar’s voice, shaking his head all the while. “Kinda pathetic, innit?”

The muscles in Einar’s face tensed, as if he had to hold himself back from yelling at Nigel. “Whatever,” he mumbled after a few tense beats of silence. “Believe what- what you want. I don’t care.”

Both of them stayed silent after that.

* * *

_[22]_

Einar’s eyes were fixated on a book that lay open in his lap, but Nigel could see that he wasn’t really reading. He was waiting for Nigel to take the initiative.

He crossed his arms. Cleared his throat. “What?” Nigel asked gruffly after a few seconds.

Einar didn’t raise his head. “Nothing.”

“Spit it out already.”

Einar turned the page, still not looking up. “I’ve been wondering lately,” he started, stalling for a moment to let the slight tremor pass through his voice before he continued to speak. “How the others are doing, I mean. Duanphen. Isabela. Caleb.”

Nigel laughed a mirthless laugh. “As if you have any right to know, mate.”

Silence settled over them like a blanket after that. Just the sound of Einar turning pages, and Nigel’s harsh breathing. Seconds trickled through his fingers like sand.

“They’re doing alright,” he relented. "Caleb and Isabela at least, as far as I know. Dunno about the girl, though. Duanphen. But they’re better off without you.”

Einar sighed. “I know.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“I won’t.”

* * *

_[26]_

Einar looked like he was sleeping, but Nigel wasn’t buying the act. His breathing wasn’t deep enough for him to be sleeping, and the shudders he tried to suppress didn’t help his case either.

“Oi,” he said loudly, announcing his presence. “Get up.”

The boy rose quietly, barely doing as much as rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “You’re here again,” he stated, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Nigel rolled his eyes, settling back into the chair. “Heard ya been talking to yourself. Finally went round the twist?” He snickered and tapped his index finger against his temple, as if there was anything even remotely funny about that.

Einar, who was trying to flatten his hair with his bare hands, finally looked up at him, scrunching up his nose. “I just- just find it easier. To remember. Talking out loud makes it ea- easier to remember.”

“Easier to remember what?” Despite his own reservations, Nigel leaned forwards.

He gestured around with a shaky hand. “Everything.”

“You’ll have to be a little clearer than that.”

“That all of this blame and- and all of this shame is mine to take. That I’m the one whose- whose fault this is. No, that’s not it.” Einar’s eyes went unfocused for a second as he looked around the room. He looked haunted. Nigel was hesitant to disturb him. “If I could give people a- a glimpse of my mind, then perhaps-” he cut himself off again, gnawing on his lower lip. “What if I cou- could leave this room? What if my view wasn’t comple- completely skewed?”

Nigel furrowed his brows. He’d never heard Einar talk this much before. He wasn’t sure if anyone other than Five or Duanphen perhaps had ever heard Einar talk this much.

“You seem anxious,” Nigel commented after he was sure that Einar wouldn’t add anything else, “maybe you should try the counselling sessions that they made all of us go through. Take the medicine they prescribed us. Oh wait. You don’t get that kinda luxuries in prison.” He rolled his eyes. “My bad.”

Einar didn’t say anything, so he continued. “And in any case, couldn’t you just, y’know, manipulate your own emotions?” He’d wanted to ask that question before, but the right time had never come. Maybe there wasn’t such a thing as the “right time”.

Einar snorted, running a hand through his hair and ruining all of his efforts. “No. No, I can’t. I wish I could.” His hands shook slightly, barely noticeable in the dim light.

“Oh please,” Nigel laughed, the sound reverberating in the empty room. “As if you haven’t lived the perfect life until now, pretty boy. Probably used to be Mommy and Daddy’s little angel. What did you to do them, huh?” He grinned and leaned forward.

Einar averted his eyes. “They’re still alive, if- if that’s what you’re asking.”

Nigel clicked his tongue, resting his cheek on the palm of his left hand, but before he could say anything, Einar was already talking again.

“We’re not so different, you and I.”

Anger churned in Nigel’s stomach, but he pushed it down. “We’re nothing alike,” he said coldly, a distasteful note to his voice.

“Aren’t we?” Einar looked at him with sharp eyes, as if he could see through every one of Nigel’s defences. He pitched his voice higher. “’Should I even be here anyway?’” He smiled as if he knew everything about Nigel’s childhood. Maybe he did.

Narrowing his eyes, Nigel stared back, not intimidated by the boy behind bars. “Don’t compare yourself to me.”

“Did I strike a chord?” Einar chuckled, but it sounded forced. As if he didn’t know how to actually laugh or feel anything. “’I’m not actually good e-enough, am I?’”

He voiced every one of Nigel’s self-conscious thoughts, and it hurt.

“You’ve been con- conditioned to listen and wait.” Einar’s eyes flashed with an emotion Nigel couldn’t name. “Just like me. But neither of us did.”

“Stop.” Nigel couldn’t listen to this anymore; no matter how much he despised his parents, Einar had no right to talk about them this way.

Einar snorted. “Don’t I?” he answered, as if he’d read Nigel’s mind, running the tips of his fingers over the scar on his neck. “Don’t I?”

The silence that followed was louder than any argument they could have had.

* * *

_[31]_

Nigel was slowly growing tired of just watching Einar through the bars day after day, so he started bringing his own stuff along; a book or anything else that could keep him company. Einar couldn’t be described as company.

He was completely out of it more often than not; whatever they did to him was taking its toll on his body.

He sighed, flipping the page as Einar mumbled something from his place on the bed. “What was that?” Nigel asked, not raising his head. He knew that Einar’s eyes weren’t even open.

“There was snow i-in Iceland. Is there snow here?”

The question sounded coherent, if somewhat sudden. Nigel shrugged. “It’s spring.”

“Oh.” Einar shut up after that, and Nigel focused on his book once more. He sounded too tired to fight.

A few minutes of silence passed.

“I don’t hate you. Didn’t h-hate you,” Einar added, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not even when- when I tried to kill you. Just wanted to get back at her.”

Closing his book, Nigel watched Einar with an unreadable look on his face. He was too tired to get mad at someone who couldn’t even reciprocate the feeling. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.”

Running a hand through his styled hair, Nigel sighed, louder this time. Then he closed the book and got up, putting the plastic lawn chair in one corner of the room.

Einar followed him with his barely-open eyes. 

“I won’t come back,” Nigel informed him.

Einar nodded half-heartedly. “I know.”

Nigel cracked half a smile. “Don’t go dying on me now, though. I wanna be the one to wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

He could swear that he heard Einar laugh quietly as he left the room, but maybe it was his imagination. He didn’t look back.

**Author's Note:**

> (almost) no one is gonna read this but i dont mind it all that much. I'd love to read more about both characters, but if no one's writing for them, well, i guess then i have to


End file.
